As soon as the kang came into being, the people of Daqin regarded this magical sky curtain as a blessing from heaven.
Even though several hours had passed, their necks had become stiff and their eyes had become sore, no one closed their eyes to rest, for fear of missing the opportunity if they were not careful.
It was almost noon, and the picture on the sky screen changed again. But when everyone saw the scene clearly, they suddenly cried out in surprise.
"Isn't this the capital of Xianyang?"
The familiar city layout, the broad roads, the houses with flying eaves and brackets, and the magnificent palace complex were exactly the same as the Xianyang City where they were now.
All the officials were talking about it and were full of doubts.
Qin Shihuang also frowned as he looked at the city that was familiar yet unfamiliar. Xianyang was a prosperous city he built, and no one knew it better than him.
But his intuition told him that this was not his capital...
"Zhuang Zhou dreamed of a butterfly, Zhuang Zhou dreamed of a butterfly. How do we know it wasn't the butterfly dreaming of Zhuang Zhou?"
"Perhaps that is another Daqin, another Xianyang..."
Fusu sighed slightly, which resolved some of the doubts of the crowd. He looked enlightened. Only Qin Shi Huang stared at his eldest son with an unfriendly look.
As the eldest son, he did not study law or the art of ruling, but instead focused on Confucianism and Taoism, which is why he is overly kind and gentle.
As the ruler of the world, he should indeed learn from the strengths of others, but he should not put the cart before the horse and confuse the important and the unimportant. How can he be confident in handing over the Great Qin to such an unenlightened eldest son?
A trace of melancholy flashed across Qin Shi Huang's phoenix eyes, but now was not the time to deal with the matter, so he quietly turned his gaze back to the sky.
Everyone in the palace accepted the explanation of the other Qin Dynasty, but the people of the world mistakenly believed that it was Qin Shihuang who hid the sacred object such as sweet potatoes.
Their hearts, already filled with resentment, now burned with rage. They were indignant and confused, they cried to the sky, they wept bitterly...
"The First Emperor is so unjust! Why didn't he share this divine seed with us to cultivate?"
"Even if the tax rate is 50%, with these 10,000-jin sweet potatoes produced per mu, my family won't have to starve!"
"God is so unfair, God is so unfair!"
For a time, people everywhere were filled with resentment and complaints. Certain reactionary forces took the opportunity to incite the people, attempting to accumulate strength and wait for an opportunity to overthrow the tyrannical Qin Dynasty.
Qin Shi Huang and his men were still unaware of all these conspiracies and intrigues. They were now staring at the strange building on the sky in a trance.
The building area is large, but extremely simple. It does not look like a palace or a house, and is arranged in an orderly manner.
The snow-white flowers that appeared next solved everyone’s doubts. It turned out that this was cotton!
Alas, they have indeed never heard of it.
After going through a series of processes, the cotton was woven into cotton cloth and sewn into cotton coats and gloves. Everyone looked at the thick and soft cloth and knew at a glance that it was extremely warm to wear.
Unlike others, Qin Shihuang focused on the factory model of division of labor, cooperation, efficiency and speed, which is similar to the workshop.
However, each craftsman in the skylight is only responsible for a part of the process, so the manufacturing efficiency is extremely high.
So, could the studio also follow this model? Qin Shi Huang's deep eyes were filled with inquiry.
After a cup of tea, the sky screen scene came to another building, where the craftsmen inside seemed to be drying something on a wooden rack.
"As white as snow and as thin as a cicada's wing. Could it be made of silk?"
"I wonder what this thing is used for?"
All the officials stroked their beards and discussed the matter, speculating on the use of this thing. Fusu, on the side, listened attentively, trying to grasp any information from the chaotic and noisy sounds of the sky.
After a while, Fusu's brows relaxed, his eyes lit up, and he spoke happily.
"They call this paper, and it's for...writing!"
"What?! This is actually written material?"
“How exactly is this made?”
The ministers were so surprised that their eyes widened.
Qin Shi Huang once again signaled Zhao Gao to take notes. For him, who had to review hundreds of kilograms of bamboo slips every day, paper as thin as a cicada's wing was a better substitute.
Cutting hemp, steaming, rinsing, pounding, pulping and drying are complicated processes, but the raw materials are very cheap and easy to obtain.
The snow-white and smooth paper undoubtedly far surpasses the heavy and difficult to write on bamboo slips.
Some clever people quickly memorized these production techniques and tried them out later. If they could make them successfully, they might be able to sell them for a good price.
However, for scholars around the world, the meaning of "paper" is more than that. It represents a cultural revolution and symbolizes the progress of a civilization...
After that, before everyone could recover from the shock of the paper, Tianmu led them to witness wheat being ground into snow-white powder by two stone plates.
In a village somewhere, the elderly village chief watched the wheat flour falling to the ground and muttered to himself.
“Why grind wheat into flour?”
"It should be easier to eat this way. The barley rice we cook directly is too harsh on the throat."
"Yeah, why didn't we think of this method before?"
A woman expressed her guess, and the others agreed. At this time, a simple and honest middle-aged man scratched his head and loudly put forward his suggestion.
"Village Chief, I know a little bit about carpentry. Why don't we give it a try?"
Since then, flour has become popular in Daqin, and people all over the world have eaten soft and delicious noodles, and finally unlocked the correct way to eat wheat.
After a cup of tea, the scene on the sky changed.
The shirtless workers used sophisticated mechanical techniques to squeeze the beans into golden oil, and the squeezed bean cakes were packed up.
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